


Concerning Hobbits

by ThatOneChemistryNerd



Series: Hobbit prompt fics (A work in progress- more often than not at questionable times of night...day...whatever.) [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I have no bloody clue, I was bored and started thinking, Kinda, Where did canon go?, and awesome, bagginshield but only if you squint reeeealy hard, both by themselves are equally bad, but mostly no, hobbits are magic-y, kinda crack-ish, like plot but no, not a good combo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneChemistryNerd/pseuds/ThatOneChemistryNerd
Summary: Bilbo is really quite done with all these dwarves being concerned about him. He really needs a better word for it too.Or: where Bilbo can have quite scintillating conversations with his prize-winning tomatoes. And Erebor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know in Tolkien’s actual universe it’s speculated that hobbits are distant cousins of man, but here I was going off the general idea that they were created more like the ents, if the ents are the protectors, then the hobbits are the guardians, and they can speak to and heal the earth, give their energy to keep the ground awake or heal it from corruption, or take it away to make it ‘hibernate’. To them, the earth is just as much a person, or people, or entity(ies) as any of their neighbors and the organisms that thrive in/on it are, with hobbit influence usually, also conscious beings, ex; the huorns in the Old Forest as hobbit magic gone a little out of hand because it wasn’t tended nor ‘put to sleep’. Also, who knows if lady Yavanna made them. Maybe they made themselves, who knows, clearly not me even though I wrote this.

Hobbits were creatures of the earth. Anyone who had met them knew this, and evidence of their connection was blatantly obvious to any who so much as set foot inside the borders of the Shire- the overabundance of _Green_ and anything plantlike as clear a sign as any, aside from perhaps a large banner that stated in overlarge letters: ‘There be Hobbits here’. While it’s quite clear that- hobbits are creatures of the earth, it is also one of the best kept secrets of their kind that hobbits are-in fact- creatures of the earth.

This is because, in truth, it’s not really a secret at all. Not to say that they went around exclaiming it loudly to any who’d listen, rather the opposite- their connection was so ingratiated into everything they did, that it never occurred to the few hobbits who interacted with the other folk- usually only the few tall folk in Bree if any- that there was anything different or noteworthy about how they saw the ground, aside from it being a few feet further away the taller you were.

Naturally hobbits thought such distance from the land was wholly unnecessary, and that if anyone was strange it was the men and elves and Dwarves running about in their _shoes_ and being so inconveniently far away from good, green earth.

It also happened that all these unfortunately tall people cared very little for the goings on of hobbits, hardly acknowledging their existence at all aside from a passing glance or an appreciative glug from a pint of their ale. Any books one might think to look in for hobbits- outside of the Shire of course, clearly looking _amongst_ hobbits for information _on_ hobbits made too much sense for the tall folk- would find them as nothing more than a footnote, if that.

Thusly it is because of their entirely unassuming and slightly reclusive nature that none aside from hobbits themselves knew that hobbits were creatures of the earth, and also because of this that Bilbo Baggins was entirely confused when his dwarrow asked him if he had hit his head coming out of Goblintown when he said the mountain had been crying out in agony with such vermin in it.

 

The fact that he had- in fact- hit his head was entirely beside the point.

 

“How could you _not_ hear it?!” he cried in exasperation when they had finally relaxed enough to lick their wounds at the base of the Carrock.

He was perhaps a bit bold in his question/accusation, especially for having just tentatively made it onto Thorin’s good side not mere hours before, but it could easily be blamed on over exhaustion and an adrenaline high- and _fine_ , on the bump on his head from falling off a bridge and being saved by mushrooms. (He knew his love of them was not misplaced, he just didn’t expect them to benefit him in any manner other than making a delicious sauté.)

Unfortunately all he got for his efforts were light, conciliatory pats to his shoulder, a few _‘whatever ya say laddie’_ ‘s, and an entirely too concerned glare from Thorin.

Bilbo had learned that any emotions other than ‘smug’ or ‘amused with nephews’ was met with some form of glower or dramatic pose from Thorin where his kingly power over wind would cause the breeze to sail majestically through his braids at just the right moment. Not that he had watched long enough to categorize them. Nope.

No matter Bilbo’s people watching habits, he was at least 80 percent certain that the look currently being directed at him was the ‘concerned glare’.

Not even the ‘sarcastically-concerned-because-what-you-just-did-was-incredibly-stupid-and-may-have-gotten-us-all-killed glare’ that he had been on the receiving end of for no reason whatsoever.

He had just sighed in appreciation of the breeze was all! But ‘ _no master Baggins, you cannot do anything aside from sitting quietly as we could clearly be attacked by the truly terrifying wildlife between Hobbiton and Bywater if you make so much as a sound, no matter that Bofur has his flute out and Bombur’s singing along._ ’ And also ‘ _No, you must sit quietly and also look slightly constipated, follow my example- we can’t have you being happy or anything, Mahal forbid.’_

Well, not in so many words, but in probably just as many grunts and furrowed eyebrows.

Bilbo might admit that when he got that particular glare after the Trolls he actually felt a little bit deserving, but not more so than Thorin’s nephews who had gotten off Scott-free.

But now it was the ‘genuine concern glare’.

 

Bilbo must really be moving up in the world.

 

Unfortunately that was the end of the issue as pain and then sleep ended up taking up most of Bilbo’s focus until he forgot about the oddity of deaf Dwarves.

 

At least until they made it to Beorn’s, but Bilbo was much too busy talking to the land and the trees about how he hadn’t had such good conversation since he left the Shire and _‘Beorn’s doing a marvelous job of keeping the land awake and in such good health_ ,’ and, ‘ _\- goodness gracious, are the bees here always that big?!’_ to notice the growing concern on the faces of his comrades.

At least Beorn he could have proper conversations about gardening with- when he tried with his dwarrow he was a bit unnerved by all the blank looks he got. Suffice it to say he learned to keep his appreciation of greenery to a minimum around them. Their loss.

And while Bilbo didn’t entirely understand the logistics of Beorn having to patrol his borders to keep the orcs out, ‘why didn’t he just let the land do it for him? It would be perfectly happy to if he trained it properly,’ (Bilbo knew, he had asked. The land that was, not the skin-changer.)- despite the liking the bear-man had taken to him, Bilbo was still a bit wary about questioning his land keeping skills. Such a conversation was appropriate only among friends, and if invited to share an opinion- to question another’s land-keeping skill without proper invitation was the height of insult.

 

 

The company’s concern only grew when Bilbo put one foot on the ground when they reached Mirkwood and then immediately remounted and turned around repeating, “Nope. Nope, nope, nope”.

It took much cajoling and a makeshift set of hobbit booties (Bilbo would burn them when they left that accursed forest and never mention them ever again) before they could even get their poor Burglar off his pony, not to mention on the path into Mirkwood.

 

Bilbo had known in part what going in there would mean for him, had known it too well, but the determination and concern in equal measure shown by his friends had made him think, _‘Buck up Baggins. Take it like a Took’._

In hindsight, no self-respecting Took would have been stupid enough to venture into Mirkwood- they were adventurous, not suicidal. Unfortunately his self-assurances that this was just like the Old Forest back home were useless, and Mirkwood was absolutely nothing like the Old Forest.

It was so much worse.

Where the woods back home had said little, and only in half-heard murmurs that spoke more of ominous disapproval than any actual words, Mirkwood was _malevolent_. The trees and land and air all tore at Bilbo’s soul- calling his mind forward to touch, only to twist his power and heart when he only wanted to heal.

If the words of the Old Forest were nonsensical murmurs then those of Mirkwood were screeching whispers of Dark Speech; never-ending even in sleep and bringing to Bilbo visions of fire and ash and the molten blood of the earth running hot over Basalt like blood from a wound.

He could hardly eat, and would have been more than a bit confused as to why none of his friends seemed to be just as affected by the evil of the forest had he been remotely cognizant.

They certainly looked concerned though-when Bilbo was paying attention. He really needed a better word than concerned. Frightened maybe, they had been concerned at Beorn’s, but now they were downright terrified of what the forest was doing to their burglar. Unfortunately Bilbo’s less-than-lucid state meant that their fear for him was interpreted as fear in general, which he thought to be entirely sensible given the current situation and- _‘bloody hell, was every creature on this side of the Misty Mountains so unnecessarily large?!’_

 

Suffice it to say, Bilbo found one more thing he hated (besides Mirkwood and Thranduil’s smug face-and eyebrows (an entirely separate entity)- and Lobelia stealing his spoons and a lack of handkerchiefs in Dwarven culture and those horrible booties that somehow made it to Laketown with him); Water.

Bilbo really, really… _really_ hated water. In large quantities such as a river or a lake, or in any depth higher than his thighs.

It made sense, Hobbits really couldn’t swim; those who could managed a doggy paddle at best, and otherwise they sank like stones thrown by someone who was quite genuinely terribly at stone skipping and had gotten frustrated and blamed the rocks for their failures.

In this way hobbits were very much like cats.

Also in this way Bilbo very much resembled a half-starved and near drowned one when he had finally managed to haul himself and his barrel-pickled friends to shore. He was then treated like a cat, in that he was picked up, squished and rubbed down with the nearest mostly dry thing more times in those few minutes than any respectable hobbit would ever have wanted to admit.

He was then cuddled to within an inch of his life when he sneezed just as they got to their lodgings in Esgaroth, and he had to check that he hadn’t grown any whiskers while he was slinking around the Elven king’s dungeons for weeks on end. Nope, no whiskers, and his ears were just as pointed and not-furred as he remembered them.

Even still, perhaps Beorn would have been better off calling Bilbo Little Kitten instead of Little Bunny, simply for accuracy’s sake.

 

 

The concern was still there throughout their stay in Laketown, initially for him being very wet, and very thin, and very tired, and then later for him being very sick. Throughout all of this Bilbo was rather muddled- initially not minding the lack of ground anywhere in his general vicinity simply for the fact that it meant he was not listening to the angry screeching of Mirkwood any longer, but eventually growing very, very uncomfortable with it when he was no longer ill and his companions looked less like they were afraid a light breeze knocking him into the lake would finish him off.

He would have been uncomfortable in Laketown purely on principle anyway, it was built on _stilts_ on a _lake_ , and he was a _hobbit_ , but he was now a hobbit that could hear _absolutely nothing_ as far away from solid land as he was, and the silence was driving him absolutely batty the longer they were there, so he hated Laketown just that little bit more for it.

Bilbo’s list of things he hated had grown rather exponentially since he joined the quest, and he was not going to hesitate to add both Esgaroth and _silence_ to it in all capital letters.

 

 

There it was again, the concern.

This time because as soon as he had gotten off the boat, Bilbo had spread himself on the ground as if trying to mold himself to it to never leave again, whispering muttered praise while caressing it with one hand, digging into it with the other, and rubbing his face on it as a child would their mother’s skirts when they were distressed.

When he had turned a slightly less alarming shade of green from when he was on the boat, he had frozen, looked confused and then sad and had then merely stood up and brushed the dirt off of himself as if the whole thing had never happened.

Wisely, no one commented.

 

 

When the secret door into the mountain opened, Bilbo rested his hand lightly against the wall and whispered to no one in particular, “She missed you.”

When Thorin looked at him in question, Bilbo simply responded with _‘The Mountain of course. Erebor’s glad to have her people back. Her king.’_

The look he got was somewhere between awe, affection and utter confusion, but it was quickly lost as everyone else did the same thing. Honestly, weren’t dwarrow supposed to have stone-sense? Shouldn’t they be able to hear their mountain better than a hobbit?

He found his way down to the treasure chamber on Erebor’s instructions- unfortunately the mountain didn’t have the same directional sense as her bipedal inhabitants, therefore the directions were closer to a game of ‘hot and cold’ rather than ‘turn left at the third juncture’. Bilbo thought it completely reasonable; if he had some strange creature crawling around inside him, he couldn’t have said whether to take a left at the colon or a round-about at the appendix- to be fair he wouldn’t have been very keen on giving directions, likely only giving the entirely unhelpful expression of ‘Out! Get out!!’

Luckily Erebor liked him much more than he liked any hypothetical inhabitants of his own body.

The mountain also was kind enough to inform him that Smaug was very much alive, and due to a thrush very much awake, and together Bilbo and Erebor hatched a plan.

The good thing about having a mountain, namely a mountain that was very much its own entity and very much awake due to centuries of cohabitation and interaction with dwarves, was that teaching it how to move and do things was really quite easy, even for a lone hobbit.

Not to say the mountain got up and moved ten feet closer to Mirkwood, leaving a giant crater in its wake, rather it was easily taught how to use Bilbo’s energy and instruction to move walls and corridors where they shouldn’t be, and to do so at a moment’s notice and without thoroughly exhausting the hobbit.

To Bilbo it was just like back home when he was taught to help the Shire protect itself by spinning any invaders who wished the hobbits or the land ill in circles until it eventually spat them back out before they could be any the wiser. It was well known to a hobbit that if you protect the land, the land will protect you.

In this case an exercise in futility, as the dragon was most certainly aware of where it was and what it was doing, however not so in that Smaug was unable to do anything about being led around like a cat on a string as Bilbo pleased.

He was having quite a fun time of it until his dwarrow, concerned at the very loud rage of a dragon, came barreling down the stairs only to gape as he raised his hand in silent synchronization with the mountain to keep Smaug’s fiery breath behind a temporary wall of stone.

 

And no matter what they said he wasn’t a wizard! If he was he might have been obligated to wear one of their ridiculous hats and carry around a staff- not hobbitish at all, thank you very much! He was also quite keen on keeping his nose _out_ of other people’s business, a decidedly un-wizardish trait, and he wasn’t about to change that just because he and Erebor agreed that trapping Smaug in a stalactite cage, and then killing him in the same manner was a sensible idea. Really.

It wasn’t as if dragon hide was impervious to many tons of sharp stone being driven through it with the combined determination of a hobbit and an entire mountain, no matter what claims the lizard may have made to the contrary. Bilbo had no Black Arrows, but he was willing to try his luck elsewhere.

As it was, the dragon was rather easily disposed of, and Bilbo was quickly raised to a position of hero worship never-before held by a hobbit.

Obviously he protested.

It wasn’t as if the dwarves wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing if they had been there. In fact he asked, he hadn’t even needed to be properly seen by Smaug before they began their little chase, so why did they need a burglar- a hobbit at that- for entering the mountain?

Apparently they wouldn’t have. Because apparently they couldn’t. Or so Bilbo came to understand from the thirteen different answers to his inquiry, all hurled at him at the same time.

He was terribly confused, dwarves were supposed to be stronger than hobbit, much more in tune with stone than any other being on Arda, so why couldn’t they have talked with Erebor? Did they not carve out her very halls? Did she not just tell him that she had missed them? Was it perhaps that they had been separated too long- did dwarrow need to be accustomed to the stone before they could teach it and mold it?

Bilbo never found out as first ale, then men and then elves took up his attention. Not to mention gold-sickness. After watching Bilbo direct the stone into a reconstruction of the front gate, Thorin had the audacity to _demand_ that he use his witchcraft- _witchcraft!_ \- to find the Arkenstone, and then when he found that Bilbo couldn’t do that, he demanded a new wall for all his gold.

Needless to say he didn’t get Bilbo to do either one. And he didn’t get the Arkenstone either, as Bilbo found it- by looking for it like any normal person- and tried to barter Thorin’s common sense with it. That was another thing not acquired by the dwarf king that day.

Bilbo, however, acquired several bruises around his neck, and then on his shoulders as he was thrown over the ramparts, and only just called out the stone to save him. It wasn’t his most graceful landing, but it didn’t seem to matter as his survival and use of Erebor’s goodwill and his remaining energy earned him a heated glare form Thorin and various stares of shock and awe from the men and elves; even Thranduil and Gandalf look impressed.

Bilbo did not have time to ponder this strange reaction to his abilities, as the ground informed him that more armies were on their way, and suddenly there were dwarves mere moments after Bilbo pointed (this perceived foresight got him another unnoticed questioning look from Thranduil), and just as suddenly there were orcs, after Bilbo started yelling.

 

 

The land was a mess, and permafrost very hard to work with, but somehow Bilbo managed it up on Ravenhill, coaxing the hibernating ground to do his bidding. Fili would likely have a bruise from his sudden landing, and Azog wouldn’t be climbing out of the pit Bilbo had caused him to fall into (unintentional, but not unwelcome), but overall he thought he did fairly well.

Even if Thorin still hated him and the land was making his stomach turn with all the death and blood seeping into it, at least no one was dead. No one he knew anyway, and as unfortunate as that thought was Bilbo was thankful for it anyway, because it meant he didn’t have to mourn any of his friends- his family, just watch over them as they healed. And watch over them he would, whether they liked it or not… as soon as Bilbo slept for a week. And bandaged his head and the gash on his shoulder. But most importantly slept for a week.

He requested that the mountain keep him safe and let him rest, which was unfortunately interpreted as ‘keep everyone away from Bilbo’ (Erebor was most disappointed with Thorin for hurting _her_ hobbit) and led to an exciting game of ‘search-the-mountain-and-try-not-to-get-lost-because-nothing-is-where-it’s-supposed-to-be’.

As it happened they eventually did find Bilbo, when it was made clear that they were all quite apologetic and _concerned_ and only wanted to help, and that Bilbo wasn’t waking up to tell Erebor what to do about it.

The dwarves and elves did their best to rouse him, but to no avail, and all questions regarding his hobbity magic were forgotten until Erebor herself decided to get involved.

The Mountain figured that if Bilbo could give his energy to help heal her from the desolation, she could do the same. As such an exchange usually went unobserved for its one directional flow hobbit-to-mountain, the reverse was decidedly more visible.

 

Bilbo’s dwarves walked into his sickroom expecting a still, sleeping hobbit, which they did see, but they also saw-and most importantly heard- the voice and life of Erebor pouring into the prone form of their friend.

The very air was tense with the latent magic of Arda, ancient and raw and powerful like the Vala that made it, it was booming through the room on a voice that sounded of deep stone and misty peaks and the timelessness of eternity- the voice of Erebor herself.

The magic of hobbits was the magic of Arda, and the Magic of Arda was that of the Valar. The magic of Arda- the lifeblood of all that live within her, was the very soul of hobbits, beings of the earth, extensions of the Valar’s hand and Arda itself, and just as ancient.

This is what Bilbo’s dwarves came to understand as they stood in the doorway, basking in power that was reminiscent of their beginnings at the forge of Mahal, but so different at the same time. It was a power that lived in the very stone itself, in Bilbo, and it was written on his skin in runes of language long-dead.

They understood, even if they weren’t conscious of it, all the times Bilbo had spoken of the land as a person, had spoken _to_ it, had treated it as a part of himself, a charge under his care and in its care in return. They understood just a bit more of the flummoxing beings known as hobbits, and learned one of the best kept not-secrets in all the world.

Bilbo, when he opened his eyes and had all these things explained to him, mused exasperatedly that if they wanted to know any of that all they had to do have done was just take a peek at his prize-winning tomatoes, or peruse his library. They got an ‘ _I told you so!_ ’ from a flushed Ori, and then a ‘W _ait, so you… can’t actually hear the mountain? Or the land at all?_ ’ and lastly when the latter had been confirmed, _‘So you all must’ve thought I was a complete nutter at Beorn’s! And didn’t say anything! How rude!’_

 

While the dwarrow were just happy to have their friend back, and to know that he wasn’t as off-his-rocker as they might have initially thought, Erebor was just as pleased to have her very own hobbit. None of the other mountains all living in a row elsewhere had a hobbit of their own, no sir, and she was most certainly going to keep this one, even if she had to keep turning him around any time he tried to leave. Not that he ever did; as much as hobbits are creatures of the earth, they are also creatures of family- and Bilbo Baggins had found his family when a grey wizard had tricked him out his door, and he wasn’t planning on leaving them anytime soon.


End file.
